


New Purpose

by RandomTexanReader



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Gen, In which Din Djarin decides to become Mand'alor solely so that way Bo-Katan can't, Mandalorians and Mandalorians are natural enemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28807491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomTexanReader/pseuds/RandomTexanReader
Summary: Set after the events of chapter 16: The Rescue.In b4 it all becomes canon divergent, written purely for my own enjoyment.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

The Child of the Watch hadn’t spoken a word since the Jedi had taken the little one. His helmet was back on, and he sat with his spear on his knees in the ship's communal area. Cara was sitting across from him when Bo-Katan came down and joined them."We'll reach the rendezvous point in about three hours," Bo-Katan said.

  
"Good," Cara answered, "I can hand the Moff over at the outpost and have done with him."

"Where is he?" 

"I didn't want him trying to off himself again, so I put him to sleep. Harmless sedative, he should wake up in a nice cozy little New Republic prison. Hopefully with a pounding headache." She turned to her companion. "The finder's fee should be enough to buy us passage back to Nevarro, and I know Karga can find--"

"No." Even with the helmet filtering his voice, he sounded tired.

"--a good job for you," Cara finished, and narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"The covert's been abandoned." He shrugged. "It's time for me to move on."

Bo Katan cleared her throat. “Come with us,” she said.

The Child of the Watch shook his head from side to side. “I need to find Mandalorians,” he said, _real_ Mandalorians, he might have as well said, “I need to...” he hesitated, and then began again, his voice firmer. “I need to return the beskar.” He looked down at his spear. “I’ll work my passage, plenty of ships could use an extra hand."

He pulled the darksaber from his side and put it on the table. 

"Thank you for helping me," he told Bo-Katan, "This belongs to you."

She folded her arms. "It's yours."

“I don’t want it,” he said, “I’m not going to claim it, as far as anyone knows you defeated Moff Gideon yourself and took it from him.”

“But I didn’t."

There was silence.

Cara swore suddenly, and almost laughed, shaking her head disbelievingly. “You actually believe it.” She addressed her companion without taking her eyes away from Bo-Katan’s. “She actually believes that winning the saber in combat gives you the right to rule the kriffing planet.”

“Mandalore is dead,” he said softly.

"It doesn't have to be," Bo-Katan snapped, "If you'd---" she stopped and breathed in sharply through her nose, forcing herself to calm down. "With your help," she said carefully, "We could reclaim the planet. The Empire's in shambles right now, but they're rebuilding. We can't wait." She leaned forward. " _Jii ra draar_." Now or never.

" _Draar_."

She slammed her hand down on the table. "How dare you," she hissed. "Where is your loyalty? Who claims to be Mandalorian and won't--"

Slamming the butt of the spear onto the ground, the Child of the Watch stood. "The planet is cursed. It is death, and you--" he leveled the spear at Bo-Katan "--want to lead Mandalorians back there." His voice crackled with disgust. "I will not help you sentence more of my kind to death."

"Oh-kay," Cara cut in, and reached out to push down the point of the spear. "Look. We've all put in a good day's work, and we're all a little tired and on edge right now, right?"

Bo-Katan ground her teeth but didn't say anything, staring at the impassive helmet. 

Finally, he turned away. "Wake me when we get there," he said, and made his way towards the sleeping quarters.

He took the Darksaber with him.


	2. Chapter 2

"So what's your plan now?" Cara asked Bo-Katan. "Are you going to challenge him for it?"

Bo-Katan sat down in Mando's vacated seat, her face stone as she thought. "No," she finally said, "Not yet. Word will get out, it always does. When he's gathered enough clans to himself, then I will challenge him."

"You won't win."

Bo-Katan's pale eyes darted towards Cara, and there was something dangerous in them. 

"Or maybe you will," Cara ceded, "But he's not going to be going around gathering clans to his cause. He doesn't want to rule anyone."

"He will. The clans will find him. Everyone changes. Already he's become willing to remove his helmet."

Cara suddenly felt angry on Mando's behalf. "He's a man of faith."

"He's a fanatic. But I can wait a little longer." Standing, Bo-Katan headed back up to the cockpit, leaving Cara to herself.

It wasn't right, Cara thought, for Bo-Katan to point out that Mando'd removed his helmet.

Hells, it wasn't right for Cara to remember that he had.

She was embarrassed to admit to herself that she had been a little disappointed by what turned out to be underneath. She had always considered herself pragmatic and no-nonsense, even as a little girl, but there was a private part of her that had built up a secret image of finely chiseled features, brooding, soulful eyes, and jet black hair, maybe with just a hint of distinguished silver. Instead, the face revealed could have belonged to any one of a thousand farmers, soldiers, or pilots scattered across the rim, tired and poorly shaven, brown hair tousled from sweat and the removed helmet, brown eyes watering with poorly-concealed emotion.

He hadn’t looked like a mighty warrior reaching the end of his quest, or a noble hero delivering an innocent to safety, or a victorious conqueror claiming the right to rule a planet. He’d looked like a working man saying goodbye to his son. And all at once Cara had understood why he clung to his helmet so fiercely.

She could have joked about how a face like that needed to be covered, but it wasn’t something to be joked about, not anymore. Underneath the helmet, he was just a man. And Cara, who had seen so many men die and who had killed so many more, could see why it would be better to die beneath the helmet than live without it.

It bothered her that Bo-Katan couldn't.

She swore to herself and settled back into her seat, crossing her arms and resting her chin on her chest. She might as well grab a few winks before they landed.

* * *

“We will meet again.” Bo-Katan’s blue helmet tilted. “A silver Mandalorian,” she said, “with a Mudhorn signet.” She nodded once, then turned her back and stalked back onto the ship.

“Was that a threat?” Cara murmured, and Mando shrugged noncommittally, and then nodded towards the prisoner.

“Do you want a hand with him?”

“No,” Cara said, hauling the groggy, gagged and bound Moff to his feet, “he weighs less than your sorry ass.” She shoved him forwards towards the small building marked with the New Republic emblem. “You probably want to stay out here, watch my bag. I’ll be back in a bit.”

The officers inside were startled, but delighted, to be taking in such a high-ranking prisoner, and Cara noted with some satisfaction that they weren’t too gentle with him as they placed him in his cell. The finder’s fee they transferred over to her was a pittance compared to the full reward she might have gotten as a private citizen, but still a very nice compensation for her troubles, and plenty to get herself and a companion home in style. Or just herself.

When she came outside, Mando was standing in front of a postings board, studying the listings as they flickered and buzzed.

Standing next to him, Cara cleared her throat. "So. Sure you don't want to take me up on that offer of a free ride and a job from Karga?"

He sighed and put his hands on his hips, looking up at the postings board. “Just help me find something that looks promising.”

Cara squinted up at the board. “Do you even know where you’re going? If you’re looking for Mandalorians who don’t want to be found—“

“I know where they’ll be,” Mando said, “We decided on the next place for the covert years ago, any survivors would’ve made it there by now.”

Cara looked at him approvingly. “Where is it?”

Mando tilted his head in that way he did when he was going to ignore a question, and then pointed at one of the postings. “Bantha hand for a rimward-bound transport. I could do that.”

Cara wrinkled her nose at the thought of an enclosed cargo hold with several of the pungent beasts in it. “If you say so.”

Mando continued reading down the list, and then sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know, maybe I should bring an appeal before the bounty hunters' guild.”

“Yeah, you’ve got an airtight case,” Cara chuckled, “‘You see, your honors, the bounty was really, really cute, and the client was complete poodoo.’ They’ll welcome you back with open arms.”

Mando conceded the point. “I’ll see about the bantha hand position, then.”

“I’ll come with you,” Cara said, hauling her bag over one shoulder. “To see about the position, I mean, you couldn’t pay me enough to be trapped in a hold with those things.”

“Thanks,” Mando commented dryly.

The bar was fairly quiet, and the bartender told Mando that the person whose name was on the posting would be there in an hour or so. Cara bought a couple of drinks, and went to sit with Mando at a table in the corner, tucking her bag underneath where she could keep her foot on top of it. Maybe there wasn't anything of value to steal, but it would still inconvenience her if it went missing.

She sipped her drink. “So, ruler of the Mandalorians, huh?”

Mando shook his head. “No, but as long as I have the sword, she can’t be.”

Cara raised her eyebrows. “You really don’t like her.”

Mando half-shrugged. “She helped me when I asked her.”

“But you don’t like her.” Cara frowned. “Is it because she takes off her helmet? What, does that make her like a who—“

Mando’s helmet swiveled towards her with distinct disapproval.

“—rible person?” Cara coughed.

“It’s not about the helmet,” he said, leaning forward onto the table. “Well, it is,” he corrected himself, “but not just the helmet.”

Cara looked at him, waiting for an explanation.

“Mandalorians have always been exiles,” he said softly, “we were chased to Mandalore in the ancient days, when the creed was first formed.” He sighed. “Place doesn’t matter, not like she thinks it does. But she needs...”

He hesitated, then started again. “There’s an old song, roughly translated, it goes “nobody is on our side, but we don’t mind, we’re Mandalorians and we are on our side.” If you’re scattered all over the galaxy, you have to be able to recognize each other, you have to know who’s a Mandalorian.” He tapped his helmet. “That’s what this is about. It has to mean something, it has to mean that other Mandalorians can trust you, or else...” he shrugged. “That's what Mandalore is. But she thinks it's the planet, and that's her mistake. The planet was already dying before the Empire ever came. Maybe it was an omen. She has to accept that it’s dead.”

Cara cleared her throat. “But it’s still there?”

Mando didn’t answer.

“What I mean is,” Cara said slowly, turning her cup on its coaster, “maybe she’s not wrong? Not entirely, I mean.”

“To lead Mandalorians to their deaths?”

“No, not that. Just...” Cara tried to fit words to the thought. “The planet’s still there. You could still go there, walk on it, at least in theory, right? Instead of...” she sighed, and sat forward, leaning on the table. “I wasn’t ever a good Alderaanian, you know, I was off of it in the first place because of that. But I kind of always figured that someday I’d come back to it, even if just for a visit. And then suddenly I couldn’t.” She studied her drink. “I mean, I still can’t picture it. A whole planet, just gone. It doesn’t make any sense.” She shook her head. “I still figure I’ll go back there someday, even though I know it’s impossible. The mountains, the valleys, the lakes, the sunsets, it’s not like they could’ve just vanished, right?”

“But they did.”

“But they did,” Cara agreed, “but I can’t accept that. I don’t think any Alderaanian can, I mean... it’s just too big, you can’t register it. And I think that’s where Bo-Katan’s at.” She shrugged. “Just something to think about, you know? Maybe you’re not supposed to just give up on a planet.”

Mando nodded thoughtfully. "There's a story I was told when I was small," he said, "A tantum fox fell into the water and nearly drowned, but managed to drag himself to the shore. As he lay there, too exhausted to defend himself, a swarm of blood-sucking flies descended upon him and began to feast. A passerby saw the fox's plight, and offered to shoo the flies away. "Please do not," the fox said, "these flies have almost drunk their fill, but if you shoo them away a new swarm will come with empty stomachs and take every drop of blood I have left." The moral being that it is better to endure a lesser evil than to invite a greater."

"Huh. Is that a Mandalorian fable?"

“No, it’s a story my mother told to me,” Mando said, “my birth mother,” he clarified.

Cara leaned back, surprised. “You weren’t born Mandalorian?”

"Mandalorian's a creed-"

"-not a race," Cara finished, "Yeah, yeah, I know you were a foundling, but I always figured that your parents were Mandalorian too."

"My birth parents, no." 

Cara looked at him with a newfound respect. She had always figured that, strict as his religion was, you had to be born to it or it would never stick. But Bo-Katan and the other one, Koska, they had been born to it, in theory at least, and even an outsider could tell that they weren't nearly as devout. She suddenly understood why Bo-Katan was so confident that other Mandalorians would flock to him. That level of conviction, well. It wasn't practical, but it was sure as hells inspiring.


	3. Chapter 3

Nobody liked the smell of bantha at the best of times, but after a week trapped in close quarters with six of them, wrestling them to and from food and water, shoveling their leavings and dirty bedding, Din was ready to take a blaster to his sinuses. The smell seeped through his armor and helmet, into every pore, and he couldn't shake the notion that the beskar itself would stink forever. It was miserable work, but at last they had arrived and he had been paid and was free from his obligation.

The first thing he did was find an inn that offered private rooms with a bath. Not even bothering to eat, he ran it once, twice, three times, then scrubbed every inch, inside and out, of his clothing until his arms ached, and finally shaved and dressed himself, feeling human again for the first time in a long while.

Then he took his weapons, his armor, and his helmet, and laid them out on the low bed. 

Sitting with his back to the wall, he picked up the ball he'd taken from the ashes of his ship. It felt cool in the hollow of his palm, and he rubbed it with his thumb as he thought.

The beskar belonged to the tribe. Rightly speaking, he should find another Mandalorian to bring it back for him, but after meeting Boba and the others, he didn't think that would be any guarantee. He would have to bring it back himself. Rightly speaking...

He sighed and tossed the ball onto the bed, then pulled his knees up and crossed his arms on top of them, settling his chin on his arms glumly. Fifty years, and the kid was just a toddler. Another twenty, thirty years, he still wouldn't be able to take care of himself, and then Din would be too old to protect him. Too strong for Din to teach, too weak to be safe from the Moff and his ilk. 

Swearing softly, he ran his hand over his hair. It had been running in his mind over and over again for the past year it felt like, and always came back to the same conclusion. But here he was again, trying to find a way for two and two to make five. Trying to find some way, any way, for Grogu to stay with him.

He buried his face in his arms. The beskar belonged to the tribe. He would find them, and give it back to them, and then...

The future stretched in front of him, vast and empty, blacker than a starless night on a clouded planet. No ship. No job. No family. No weapons, even, save for a sword that he didn't know how, and didn't want, to use. For the first time since he'd been very young, he didn't know what to do next.

He sat for a long time, feeling the stiffness creep into his knees and hips and back, but unwilling to move. Finally, though, he stood, slowly as his joints creaked and protested, and crossed the room to the bed. Without moving his armor or weapons, he lay down next to them and closed his eyes. The least he could do was get some sleep before he found the tribe. 


End file.
